


The Editor

by lunaemoth



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, MCIT Challenge, Modern Girl in Thedas, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7907962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaemoth/pseuds/lunaemoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In answer to <a href="http://moderngirlinthedas.tumblr.com/post/147868486010/what-if-the-mgit-is-super-into-grammar-and-when">a prompt on the MGIT tumblr</a> and published for the Modern Character in Thedas Challenge, 1st day, option 1: “A first meeting”. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Doleen was reborn in Thedas and became an editor in the Free Marches. Old memories come back to her when the manuscript for Varric's first book ends up on her desk. All the storylines from the games are a bit fuzzy to her but she knows one thing: she wants to meet him. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Editor

**Author's Note:**

> NB: I'm french, english isn't my first language and this isn't betaed so you can expect some mistakes. If anything bothers you please send me a nice comment with the correction.

Doleen stared at the manuscript on her desk in a daze. It wasn’t different from all those she had edited before, apart from one name. A name that brought back memories she had thought long gone. Memories from another life… literally.

When she had been reborn in Thedas, it had taken years for her to understand her strange dreams and why she just _knew_ things. Her parents had thought she was a genius, and she had believed them, until she realized that she simply had already gone through all the childhood steps before. She had that epiphany at thirteen years old… and let’s say that it didn’t make adolescence any easier than the first time.

She made her peace with it though. Now, she was eighteen years old and an editor for sixteen months. Her new life was going well, and her past life was properly forgotten and dealt with… or so she thought.

She glared at the signature that changed the statu quo. Varric Tethras be damned! Now she was remembering the Dragon Age stories and wondering when everything was supposed to go pear-shaped. There was something about a Blight, she was pretty sure, then Qunari, a Mage-Templar war and a Breach in the Fade. Maker! Ferelden and Orlais weren’t even at peace yet… that probably meant she had some years of respite before her…

The Chantry’s bell resounded in the city and Doleen flinched. Damn! She had lost nearly an hour trying to remember! The future could wait. She had a manuscript to edit!

“You better be a good writer, Varric Tethras,” she mumbled, “because you’re already way too much trouble.”

Doleen took her quill, opened her red ink bottle and went to work. ‘ _The Dasher’s Men_ ’, Varric Tethras’ first book, wasn’t going to correct itself.

 

*

 

A few weeks later, the young editor closed her nearly empty bottle of red ink and put aside the manuscript. She chose a nice stationery from a drawer and some black ink.

Varric Tethras was a good writer. A new one with room for improvement, admittedly, but a good one nonetheless. She understood why he will be one of the most renowned writer of his age.

Still, she had a lot to say that couldn’t be put in the margins of a manuscript. She also had a lot to say that couldn’t be written at all mind you, like _“I remember part of your future to come, kindly make sure to help Fereldan refugees when you can, avoid red lyrium and beware of your asshole of a brother.”_

Ha! As if! She hadn’t spoken of her past life to anyone and she wasn’t ever going to. In Thedas, when you were thought crazy, you were checked by Templars to make sure that you weren’t possessed, and then sent to asylums which were ― depending on what your family could pay ― at best a prison and at worst a nightmare where you will slowly waste away.

So, nope, not going down that road.

It didn’t mean that she wasn’t curious and tempted to do something, though. Of course she was! And Varric? Damn, he had been one of her favorite characters! So she was going to write to him with her best handwriting. Oh, for now, it was only about his book of course, and she was being very professional, but maybe it was a bit longer than what she used to write for her other clients.

She was very determined to make sure that he would choose her for his other books to come. First, because she knew that he was going to become renowned throughout Thedas, which was always good for her own reputation, and then because, hopefully, it meant that she might meet him someday. At least, she would have a correspondence with him! Just that thought was enough to awaken the fan in her.

Adjusting her glasses on her nose, she started her letter with a proper greeting before introducing herself and following up with a compliment on his handwriting (she never missed computers ― or even typewriters ― as much as she did when she had to squint and decipher some obscure manuscripts). The constructive criticism she had planned took several drafts and hours to get right before she finally sent it, determined to move on to something else.

As much as she wanted to pretend being detached from the matter, the minute she received a reply several weeks later, she opened it feverishly and read it with parted lips. A squeal escaped her when the writer gave her just as many compliments on her work as she did on his and thanked her for her advice. In her excitement, the letter was creased a little and she hastily smoothed it with careful hands.

“Easy, Gwendoline,” she murmured to herself while fanning her face with the letter, “remember that you’re forty-eight and not really eighteen, you’re not supposed to get silly crushes about people you’ve never met.”

She liked to pretend that her real age was obtained by adding all the years she had ever lived, knowing that she died at thirty in her first life although she couldn’t remember how. It gave her a good excuse to behave like an old lady, since her family and friends were so fond of the comparison…

“Don’t get a crush,” she repeated to herself as she carefully wrote a reply and stored the letter in a small casket.

 

*

 

It wasn’t a crush but a small infatuation. For five years, they exchanged letters irregularly.

After the first wave about ‘ _The Dasher’s Men_ ’, there was a lull. Doleen thought it would stop there but several months later Varric was writing to her about his new project and right after that sending her his first draft to have her opinion. She was delighted.

' _Darktown’s Deal_ ’ was published two years after Varric’s first novel, this time as a serial in several instalments. It was a new experience for Doleen. She had to work on a tighter schedule and there was a lot of adjustments to make, especially considering that Varric lived in Kirkwall while Doleen and the publisher were from Starkhaven. They wrote to each other weekly during those times.

Once the serial was completely published, there was a new lull. It was to be expected. They both had their own life to deal with, the only thing connecting them being Varric’s books.

 

In 9:23, Varric contacted her about his new thriller, ' _The Viper’s Nest_ ’. He insisted that he couldn’t send the manuscript to her however, that it was too sensitive, something about the Dwarven Merchants Guild not putting their hands on the draft. Their publisher was intrigued enough to organize a trip to Kirkwall.

That’s how Doleen ended up in Hightown, walked down the stairs of an inn by Hendrik Deschamps’ side and met Varric Tethras for the first time.

Nervous and excited, Doleen had put on one of her most flattering dress (but not one of the most expensive, of course, she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard… alright, she had put way too much thought in this). She was carefully raising the hem of her dress and watching where she was stepping when she heard the two men greet each other.

“Master Tethras! We meet again, at last!”

The dwarf was younger than she remembered (of course he was, they were still far from the video games timeline). He was undoubtedly one of those men who got more charming as they aged, like a good wine. Still, when he turned to her, he might have been only in his early twenties (just like her), but his smile was nonetheless captivating.

“Doleen. It’s a pleasure to match an elegant handwriting with such a lovely face.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle as he kissed the back of her hand, a dust of red sprinkling her cheeks. He already had the silver tongue she expected and, while they had long ago started to call each other by their first name in their letters, it was something else to hear her name coming from his lips. “I’m just as pleased to note that your way with words goes beyond paper, Varric.”

They sat at a round table and discussed Varric’s new book while they ate grilled fish and sipped Orlesian wine. It was like all the professional meals Doleen had attended before, except that Varric was funny and charming, far from the boring men who tended to lecture or patronize her.

While they waited for dessert, Varric showed them his manuscript. Hendrik took it and immediately held it to Doleen, who carefully wiped her fingers on a napkin before accepting it. She took her glasses from her clutch bag and put them on before skimming through the papers. The two men were discussing the Dwarven Merchants Guild. She half-listened to them, more interested in working through the first page.

“What do you think Doleen?” The author asked, watching her avidly.  

She tutted. “I think that your old habits die hard. What did I tell you about using ‘and’ or ‘but’ at the start of a sentence?”

Varric laughed at her gentle reproach. “My grammar tends to worsen with each gap in our correspondence, I’m afraid.”

She looked at him over her glasses. “An invitation to pepper you with letters? Duly noted.”

“Good. Your letters are always a reprieve from all the rest.”

She looked down to hide her pleasure and soft smile.

“What of the content, my dear?” Hendrik asked.

“It seems interesting enough. Contrary to some manuscripts I shan’t name, I don’t have the urge to throw it out of the window.”

Varric laughed. “Was that supposed to be a compliment? I can’t tell.”

“I never make a prognosis on the first page alone, but I’ve read much worse,” Doleen explained before teasing him: “ _The Dasher’s men_ , for example…”

“Ouch. Your words are sharp, Doleen,” he chuckled, not disappointing her in the least with his good sense of humor.

“And how much time should it take you?” Hendrik asked, always focused on the essential.

She leafed through the manuscript. “Three weeks, I’d say.” Especially if she wanted to enjoy her stay in the city.

“That won’t do. I can’t finance your stay here for more than ten days.”

She huffed. “Please! Ten days? I could barely do it in two weeks if I work on it at candlelight and adjusted the last details on the road. But ten days is just asking for a letter of the University of Orlais scolding us for poor grammar! _Again_.”

“Ooh,” Varric said, watching them curiously, “there is a story there.”

“Serah Deschamps didn’t give me the day I asked for a last proofreading. Time is money he said. Well, time is also reputation, Serah. Two weeks, no less,” she insisted.

“Fine! You have two weeks,” Hendrik sighed, raising his hands in defeat. “Maker preserve me from the Orlesians’ fussiness.”

“Those are your ancestors you’re criticizing,” Doleen reminded him.

“There is a reason my grandfather left Orlais, isn’t there?”

She shook her head, knowing that the businessman was quite pleased to use his origins when it served him, but didn’t comment. There was a reason she was a scholar and not a merchant after all.

She had what she wanted: two weeks in Kirkwall, all expenses paid.

 

*

 

Kirkwall was just as bad as she remembered from the games. Doleen quickly decided not to waste too much of her time visiting the city and certainly not alone: she didn’t fancy tempting the thieves who easily identified her as foreign and upper middle class. After a few days strolling through Hightown to check the best sights, the only times she stepped out of the inn were with Varric by her side.

The dwarf had quickly become a friend. She got the impression that he was using her to forget his family troubles. Far from her the idea to stop him: she was enjoying his attentions. He showed her several little known spots of interests in Hightown and then managed to convince her to follow him in Lowtown. They didn’t go often (only when her gowns were modests, she noticed), and he never left her side. He didn’t have his faithful Bianca strapped to his back, not yet, but a simpler crossbow, as well as a dagger at his belt. He was already famous in town however because no-one bothered them.

He spent several evenings with her at the inn. They sipped some wine, talked and played card games that he had to teach her.

As the end of her trip was getting close, Doleen had to spend more time working at the desk in her bedroom. It wasn’t quite proper, but neither of them cared when Varric invited himself in her room and looked over her shoulder. She used the opportunity to berate him some more about proper grammar and syntax. He playfully bowed to her expertise.

It became usual for him to sit and read by the window. It made her work more efficient, allowing her to discuss and criticize some details with him when she needed to. It was also more company than she was used to, loner that she was, but a company with whom she was comfortable.

 

Two days before her departure, Varric appeared for dinner. She hadn’t seen him all day, which was unusual. He was clearly in a sullen mood. He did his best to be pleasant however, so she followed his lead and didn’t mention it.

They just had finished their meal when he invented an emergency to take his leave.

“Varric,” she sighed, “just go to the Hanged Man and gamble all your money at Wicked Grace if that is your wish, I won’t be offended.”

He froze, standing with a hand on the table, and stared at her.

“I’m not sure if being surrounded by drunkards will help your mood much, mind you,” she continued as she also stood up, “so if you’d rather enjoy yourself in better company…” She met his eyes and leaned forward slightly to showcase her cleavage. “… you know where to find me. Otherwise, I wish you a good night.” She brushed by his side and lightly put a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds. When he didn’t react, she moved on. “See you tomorrow.”

Her heart was beating frantically when she stepped into her room and dropped on her bed. Her cheeks were burning and she covered her eyes in embarrassment. Maker, what was the matter with her? She wasn’t a seductress at all! Did she really thought this would work? How embarrassing! She hoped that Varric wouldn’t think much of it and that their relationship wouldn’t change because of her stupidity…

With a sigh, Doleen sat at her vanity and removed her jewellery.

A knock at the door.

She froze.

Another knock and she stood up quickly, her heart beating with hope and anticipation. No, it probably wasn’t him…

It was.

Varric was looking up at her with a guarded expression. He didn’t say a word.

Doleen opened the door wider and let him through.

When the door closed behind him, Varric stared at her curiously. “How did you know what I was going to do?”

She huffed. This wasn’t exactly what she was expecting and it didn’t help her in relaxing but she replied politely: “You clearly need to unwind and I know how much you love your cards.”

“Most people would think I was going to get drunk,” he said bluntly.

“Varric, you sipped _one_ glass of wine during dinner. You’re one of the most reasonable men I’ve encountered about alcohol and I don’t need to know all your family problems to understand why.”

This made him tense and shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Doleen shook her head and leaned down to cup his cheek. “Varric,” she breathed, immediately getting his attention. “Are you here for my company? Or for questions and headache? Because in the second case, I meant to ask you about the epilogue…”

He caught her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Say no more.” His other hand went to her waist and his head tilted up to meet her midway. Several strands of her dark hair came to brush his cheeks while their lips danced against each other. He slid his hand through her hairdo, undoing it until it fall on her shoulders. This move convinced Doleen to pull him to the bed: with less height difference, he might not tug on her hair.

 

Contrary to every dwarf she knew, Varric didn’t have a beard, just stubble, and she quite liked it this way. It was easier to kiss and much more agreeable. The stubble was also more fun to scratch and, despite Varric’s complaints, she knew he liked it.

“No, I don’t,” he grumbled. Stretched out naked in the middle of the bed with Doleen leaning against him, he was successfully distracted from his gloomy thoughts.

She giggled and scratched his square jaw, just under the ear. “Liar,” she teased him when he tried to hold back a groan of pleasure.

“You don’t have nails, Doleen, those are claws.”

She laughed and waved her thin fingers (just a little stained by ink) and their long nails in front of his nose. “Maybe, but I'm gentle with them, aren’t I?” Slowly, her hand went down, brushing his chest, playing with its hair briefly before going down to his flat stomach and following the trail downwards.

“That, you are,” he agreed breathlessly.

Snuggled up to his side, Doleen rubbed her nose against his stubble and kissed his jaw before making her way up to lick his earlobe and its golden earring.

“Uh, uh, no,” Varric said, gently grasping her wrist, pulling it up and turning on his side.

“No?” She asked, wide-eyed, blinking in incomprehension and a hint of worry. Did she do something wrong? Did he want to leave? She was hoping he’d stay for the night but she supposed that was too much to ask…

He chuckled and kissed her wrist. “Doll, don’t make this face. I meant, no, we aren’t focusing on me because, as young, awesome and virile as I am, I can’t go again so soon. So… come here and let me show you what dwarven hands can give you.” He pulled her in the middle, pushed her on her back and kneeled between her thighs.

“Ooh,” she breathed in understanding. “Are we having a competition?”

Their eyes met, both pair twinkling in mischief.

“I never lose.”

“So you say,” she teased him, raising her leg to brush the soft skin of her thigh against his side. “Right now, I think I’m on the lead.”

“Let me show you how it’s done,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

The following morning, she woke up to a warm wall against her back and a hard stone pressing against her backside. A thumb stroking her skin gently but slowly going up to her breast led her to ask sleepily: “Again?”

His warm breath tickled her skin, followed by his lips, his stubble, his tongue and his teeth gently nibbling at her neck. “Only if you want to, Doll.”

“Mh… ‘Tis fine with me as long as you do all the work,” she slurred, buried in her pillow.

He did.

And she loved his hands… a lot.

 

*

 

“I really need to find a better crossbow,” Varric sighed as he returned his weapon to his back.

Doleen dragged her stare from the thug who was cradling his hand while he ran away to the handsome dwarf who had reacted before she even noticed the danger.

It was the day of her departure. They were at the gates of Kirkwall, waiting for her luggage to be loaded in the caravan. There were a lot of people moving around, a good opportunity for a robber… if it wasn’t for Varric’s sharp eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a good one,” she said distractedly, still a bit shaken by the bolt protruding from the thief’s hand.

“The Carta is looking into a repeating crossbow but I bet they’ll keep it for themselves, if they ever manage it.”

“I bet you’ll find a way to get one anyway.”

Varric glanced at her curiously. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a gambler, Doll.”

“I’m not. I only bet when I know I’ll win.”

Varric snorted but their discussion was interrupted by the coach driver coming to tell Doleen that they were ready for her.

Author and editor walked towards the carriage. They had already said everything of importance to each other, mostly promises to write regularly and to see each other again. As such, Varric simply kissed the back of her hand and wished her a good trip.

 

They left each other as good friends.

Yet, after eighteen months of correspondence, Varric’s letters stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me (and this) at: ashkaarishok.tumblr.com
> 
> I've ideas to write more (and started to write some, during the DA2 storyline) but I've so many fics already started... Damn my muse.


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